‘You’ll look lovely whatever you wear,’ Leon says. She turns to look at him, and for the first time notices his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s as unsettled here as she is.

It’s as she heads towards the bathroom, she notices a small bookshelf by the window. She crouches down, eyes flickering over the array of novels. In amongst a whole range of thrillers and ghost stories, are copies of her father’s books. ‘That’s weird,’ she says, pulling one out and showing it to Leon.

He shrugs, shakes his head. ‘Not really, your dad wrote bestselling Gothic thrillers. This is a Gothic hotel.’

‘I guess so.’ She shoves the book back on the shelf between copies of Stephen King’s The Shining and Robert Bloch’s Psycho, trying to shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.

*

The tick tick tick of the grandfather clock echoes into the silent reception area.

‘Where is everybody?’ Alice whispers, clinging to Leon’s arm as they make their way towards the dining room. She’s abandoned her yellow dress, and is wearing a purple tunic over leggings. Feels better after a shower. She suits purple, and has plaited her blonde hair – twisted it around her head like a traditional Dutch doll – though a few tendrils have already worked their way loose, spirals of wispy hair floating down her cheeks.

‘It’s like we’re here all alone,’ Leon says.

‘Mmm, it’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?’

They’re about to enter the restaurant, when a shriek of laughter echoes from the bar, making Alice jump.

‘Faith!’ She releases Leon’s arm and turns. ‘I’d know that laugh anywhere.’

Leon grabs her hand before she can head across the chessboard quarry tiles. ‘Can we eat first, Alice? Please. I may have to bite my arm off if we don’t, and possibly yours too.’

‘Go get a table,’ she says, pulling her hand free. ‘I’ll be two minutes. Promise.’

She feels the weight of his hungry eyes on her, as she heads towards the bar.

From the doorway, she struggles to make out the shadowy figures sitting in a booth, but can see a sprinkling of low tables and chairs. The room is dimly lit, with pockets of lighting from wall-mounted lamps and a roaring fire. A young woman with long black hair stands behind a bar at the far end, bright pink lighting around the bar revealing she looks vacant – sad somehow. It’s Gabriela, the woman in the photo behind reception.